All My Life
by TrulyShadowKissed
Summary: He can't take it anymore. That feeling. Will Edward and Jasper be able to resolve their problems and truly find love? Or will there effort be for nothing? AH and AU.
1. That Feeling

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. Though I am in possession of a ticket to the midnight viewing of New Moon… **

**That Feeling**

What we have is special. Or so I like to tell myself.

When we're together I could swear that I see something more than just lust in his eyes. _He cares. He just has to_. The mere thought that I am nothing more than a willing body tears at my soul. I shake my head, trying to deter myself from this stream of thought.

It's not like this is the first time I've thought about this. This possibility. This absolutely heartbreaking possibility that he may not feel for me what I feel for him.

I allow my head to fall forward, completely drained. I slouch back onto the couch, allowing my body to become completely lax. It's comforting; to know at least there is something physically keeping me in place.

The door opens and I automatically know it's him. It might be a cliché, but it's as if the moment he walks into a room my heart recognizes him, calls out for him. If only he felt the same draw. I release a strangled sigh, full of longing and dread.

As I hear him close the door and lock it behind him, I remember the day I gave him his key. I had told him it was nothing more than a convenience, an easier way than having to answer the door every time he came. Yet to me, I was symbolically giving him my trust. My heart. To me, allowing someone free access to my home, my haven, was a huge leap of faith. To trust him enough to not abuse it. To trust him enough to not abuse me.

I was so excited about giving it to him, but I played it cool. I knew he wouldn't understand the meaning behind it, but I couldn't help but hope he would. I had steeled myself for his reaction, but it still hurt a little when his only reply with a simple "Thanks" and to shove it into his pocket.

He might as well have torn my heart out and thrown it to the ground; as if it was worthless, as if _I_ was worthless. I still remember that sinking feeling in my stomach. It was the feeling of utter insignificance. I felt used, replaceable. It was as if he could easily replace me with another without a second thought, without a single shred of doubt or guilt. Not even a lone tear, nor a goodbye, or even an explanation.

If only I could forget that feeling. Yet every time we're together, the feeling just gets stronger and stronger. I wish I could just shove it into the most isolated corner of my mind and lock it away. If only I could burn it until it's barely recognizable. But no such luck. The feeling slowly grows in my chest, in the place my heart used to be. In its place is just an aching organ, filling my body with life, but no joy, no contentment.

I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to exist like this before it completely consumes me. Hacking away at my life until I am no more than a pile of rubble.

I can hear him as he removes his jacket, carefully placing it on the table by the door. It's almost sad how much I envy that jacket. It's his most prized possession. It's just a simple leather jacket. It's old, but perfectly worn to run along his lean body. He's never told me the significance of this item, and I highly doubt he ever will. I guess I'm just not that important to him.

I can now hear him as he removes his shoes, leaving them by the door. If nothing else, I can count on his routine. Coat off. Check. Shoes set neatly by the door. Check. Next I predict he will call out my name, his tone neutral as if he hasn't a care in the world. As if he knows I will always be here, waiting for him.

"Jasper."

His impartial voice carries through my apartment and I can't help the way it affects me. I have grown to love this voice, the way it seems to wrap around me and fill me with all the joy I seem to be lacking.

And there we are.

And here I am.

Once again.

I feel like his slave, to be used whenever he pleases. I won't stand for this anymore. I just can't. Things have to change. I need to lay my cards on the table, put on my best poker face, and pray. Pray that things can change. Pray that this will be the turning point. And above all, pray that he loves me.


	2. The Talk

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. Though I do wish I had my own personal Jasper.**

**The Talk**

Friday.

JPOV:

I can hear him as he makes his way through my house. I can't help but think of his smooth, even gait that gives him the presence of a god. His natural grace captures the attention of everyone near. I don't think I've ever seen him so much as stumble in all the time I've known him.

Me on the other hand? I'm fidgeting like a crazy man. My leg is bouncing at an uncontrollable pace. My fingers tap out a beat on the arm of the couch I so desperately need to keep me stable.

I am trying with all my might to pull myself together. _I need to do this. _I remind myself.

My mind wars back and forth. I could attempt to save myself from being buried under the pain of unrequited love, but that would mean I'd have to risk the man I hope loves me. Yet if I remain on this path, I'll surely become nothing more than a shell of the man I once was.

I steady myself and finally muster up enough energy to reply to Edward's beckoning.

"I'm in here."

I try to make my voice sound as normal as possible, but I fear that it didn't work as well as I'd hoped.

He enters the room and the air is knocked out of me.

I'm literally breathless. Edward has always been, and always will be, beautiful. But today something seems different. It may be the fact that, if things go wrong, this will be the last time I'll see him like this, so familiar and at ease. It pains me, but I know that I will never be able to face him again if he tells me he doesn't love me.

He's wearing a simple outfit, a black shirt and jeans, but he makes it look like a masterpiece. His nondescript black shirt is perfectly fitted; not too tight, but not too loose. It expertly accentuates his toned chest and dark hair that always falls in front of his left eye. His jeans are worn low on his hips, clearly showing that he is wearing nothing underneath. I have to physically restrain myself; my muscles clench, my hands grab at the couch beneath me. I want nothing more than to drop to my knees and worship him.

"Edward."

His name leaves my lips on a sigh. I am relieved to see him. If he had been paying close attention, he could have heard the hurt that resounded in my voice.

He's looking at me with a quizzical gaze, probably wondering why I'm acting so strange. On any other night I would have immediately gone to him as soon as I heard him arrive. I do long to go to him and feel his lips move with mine. I quickly steer myself away from that course and try to think of something else. Anything else.

I cringe, remembering the last time we were together. There hadn't been a shred of compassion, not even the barest inclination that he felt anything for me other than lust. His lips had savagely attacked mine. He didn't give a single thought as he roughly pinned me down and took me. He was through the door and on me before I was even able to comprehend what was happening.

That night had been a catalyst for what I was about to do. I like to think there was a reason for the way he treated me, but he never gave me an explanation, and I never asked. We just laid in the middle of my living room floor, breathing heavily. I don't know what he was thinking, but I was going over every rough touch, biting kiss, and forceful thrust as I tried to think of a reason he would do that to me. To be used by the man you loved? That was something I could never wish on anyone. It hurt. Badly. It had left a resounding ache in my heart that I doubted would ever heal.

With the memory so fresh in my mind and the hurt so clear in my heart, I stand from my spot on the couch with unsteady legs. As I slowly approach him, I notice his expression. It holds questions, as is expected, but what I truly notice is what isn't in his expression.

There isn't an ounce of apprehension. No fear, no insecurity. He is so certain that won't leave; that I would never have the strength to leave him.

This one single realization deflates me. I was so ready to go at him with self righteous indignation; to throw every action of his that had caused me pain in his face. To recite every broken promise he had ever given me. But there's where my logic is faulty. He never made me promises. He never told me we would live happily ever after or even that he loved me.

I've been fooling myself. He doesn't love me, he never has. He has never done one thing that would even suggest he cares for me on any deeper level.

These thoughts leave me weak, body and soul. I brace myself again the nearest wall. I bend my down-turned head in Edward's direction, looking at him with eyes full of sadness and resignation.

Edward's expression remains the same, still not containing even a minute amount of concern. I can feel the fissure in my heart growing as the pain increases; any more of this and it would be barely recognizable. If I look even close to how I feel at this very moment, I'd like to hope that even the most heartless man on the planet would feel some pity. But on the other hand, I have always been an optimist.

I gather my strength and release my hold on the wall. My legs give the smallest of shudders, but I remain standing

I look Edward directly in the eyes and in the calmest voice I can muster I murmur,

"I can't do this anymore."

Now if this was a movie, this would be the scene where the distraught lover begs and pleads for the other to reconsider, making grand exclamations of love and adoration. But this isn't a movie. This is my life.

Edward merely gazes at me. I can't quite decipher the look in his eyes but I do know it's not the expression I was hoping for. I don't know exactly what I was looking for, but it was something more than this. Maybe I was looking for some pain, some remorse even.

This reaction only succeeded in confirming one of my worse thoughts. I was completely and utterly replaceable to Edward.

"I think it would be best if you just left."

The sentiment barely leaves my lips above a whisper. Each word causes my heart a stab of pain. I feel as if all the air has been forced from my lungs. I desperately want him to leave so I can fall to pieces in the privacy of my own apartment.

I refuse to look at him as I make my way towards the door. I open it, and the sound of the lock being removed suddenly sounds so unforgiving, so final. I hold it open for him, still refusing to look at him.

The seconds go by and nothing happens. I chance a glance into the living room. Edward is still standing in the same exact place I left him.

"Edward."

My voice is so full of resignation that I can barely tolerate the sound of it. He has broken me.

"Please, just leave."

It's pathetic how I am now begging him. He has already taken my heart. Why not give him my dignity too?

I expected anger. I expected indignation. Above all I expected him to leave and never turn back. But what I never expected was the sound of his voice, full of determination, doing the one thing I never allowed myself to hope he would do.

"No, Jasper. I will not leave."

He is fighting for us.

And as I close the door, a small smile slides onto my lips.


	3. The Explosion

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. I am sadly in the possession of nothing.**

**AN: This chapter will make a lot more sense if you read my prequel, The Catalyst. You don't have to, but it explains some things.**

**The Explosion**

Friday.

JPOV:

I turn around and he still has that look of determination on his face. His shoulders are squared and his eyes hold a fiery quality; they seem to burn right through me.

I refuse to go to him. If he wants me, he has to come to me. Yet he stands motionless in the middle of my living room. I may have closed the door, acknowledging that I no longer wish for him to leave, but that doesn't mean I will make the next move. I think I have taken enough steps in our relationship, if you can even call it that. I have repeatedly put myself out there and every time I end up disappointed and rejected.

The hurt and resignation still lies deep within me, but I also feel anger. He has been leading me on. It's been over a year since I met him and I can't take in anymore. I have basically put my life on hold for him. I deserve to start living again. If things don't get resolved right now, I honestly don't think they ever will.

I can feel my expression change as the anger rippling through my body can no longer be contained. My hands start shaking and I feel as if I'm going to explode.

He is still just standing there. I can feel disgust mingle together with my hatred. A grimace crosses my face as I think of all the ways I have let him use me.

_I'm pathetic_.

The thought resonates through my head. And with it comes a tirade of thoughts.

_You are weak. You are useless. No one will ever want you. You can't even defend yourself. You will never have the strength to stand up for yourself. No wonder he uses you. You just take it._

They bombard me until I feel on the edge of erupting.

Before I can even find the want to stop myself, I rush him. My shoulder makes contact with his stomach as I bring him to the ground. I hear the air leave his lungs as we hit the floor. _I_ am now the one in control.

His face is so full of shock. It must be a crazy notion to think that _I_ would stand up for myself. It's that look that truly pushes me off the edge. Memories floor my mind. _Him_ pinning me down. _Him_ biting me to the point of pain. _Him_ and his unforgiving thrusts as he takes me. I am sickened.

My fist connects with his jaw and I take a sort of sadistic joy from his pain. I love him so much it hurts while he just continues to exploit me. I show him tenderness and care and how does he repay me? He brutalizes me. He takes what he wants without a second thought regardless to how I feel. And at this moment I feel dirty, soiled.

"You used me."

I practically spit the words at him, pain and anger permeating each word.

"I loved you so much. And you didn't even care."

The words come out strangled as a painful sob breaks through my chest. I couldn't tell you what he looks like, my sight too obscured by my endless tears.

"I am not just a body. I am a person."

I'm becoming desperate; my emotions consuming me. I can feel the tears running down my cheeks and the cries escaping my throat. I violently push down on his shoulders as he tries to pull forward. I put as much force behind my actions as I can and it still doesn't feel like enough. I am trying to inflict as much pain to him as he has to me.

Images assault me as I raise my fist for a second strike. I remember looking at the marks he inflicted on me, the bruises on my wrist, my bloodied lip, the bite marks on my neck and hips. I remember standing in front of my mirror after taking a shower and just staring, unsure how to feel. It was nearly impossible to believe that these marks were made out of anything but pure want and anger. I tried my hardest to repress the memory. But I was reminded of it everywhere, every time I tried to grade papers, every time I walked into my living room. It had been 3 days and the bruises had turned a deep, sickly purple. I was doing so well at repressing those memories. I really was. But when I saw him just standing there, in the same exact spot he had pinned me to the ground, it felt only right I should return the favor.

"Jasper."

His voice breaks through my cloud of anger and disgust and I fully realize what I'm doing. My eyes widen and as I gaze as my fist hovering over his face. I scramble off him and back away until there is nowhere else to go. I've literally backed myself into a corner.

My emotions are all over the chart and I can't decipher a single one. There is definitely anger and disgust, anguish and despair. But there is also another emotion: love.

My sobs continue to wrack my body and I pull my legs close to me, wrapping my arms around myself and lowering my head onto my knees.

I can hear him on the other side of the room, his breathing heavy. Another unwanted memory flares up and I do my best to ignore it.

I try to calm myself, to rein in all the emotion that has overridden my common sense.

I do not know how Edward has taken my outburst. I'm too afraid to look up. I want so badly to hear him say he loves me. I doubt that will ever happen. If he's incapable or unwilling, I'm unsure.

"Jasper."

His voice is hesitant, almost scared.

_And why shouldn't he be? You just tackled him to the floor and hit him._

Guilt rips at my stomach. No matter what he's put me through over the last year, I still didn't have the right to do this.

I slowly lift my head and wipe the tears from my eyes. They still flow steadily down my cheeks, but I don't think they're going to stop any time soon.

"Are you okay?"

My voice comes out quietly, but I really am worried. In my rage all I wanted was to inflict pain. But now that the anger has passed, remorse and guilt have filled my body.

_How many more emotions can my body handle before I crash under the stress?_

I don't have time to ponder that as he replies with a quiet, "I'm fine."

_Stoic as ever._

I sigh and pull myself up. I walk into my bathroom and take my time finding a washcloth. I slowly wet it with cold water, giving Edward plenty of time to slip out of my apartment if he wishes to.

I make my way back with slow, even steps. I take a calming breath and I round the corner into the living room. Edward is still there. He now sits on the couch, head in hands.

I push my coffee table closer to the couch and sit on it so I'm now sitting directly in front of him.

"Edward?"

I say it softly but it still seems to startle him. He lifts his head and just looks at me.

There's so much to say, and neither of us seem to know how to say it. We merely gaze at each other, hoping for the best.

**AN: I just wanted to tell you that I wrote a prequel to this that depicts the night that Jasper is having flashbacks of. It might clear some things up. Hope you liked it.**


	4. Remorse

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own the boys. But they do own a part of my soul.**

**Remorse**

JPOV:

I gently rub the washcloth over his bloody lip. It seems that the only visible damage I caused him was a split lip and a bruise on his cheek. Only time would tell though.

He still hasn't said a word to me, but it's not like I've prompted him. To tell the truth, I'm kind of scared. What if he yells? What if he gets angry? It would only be fair for him to return the favor. I wouldn't put up a fight. _Like usual._ I shake the thought off and try to keep my focus on cleaning his busted lip. It's not really doing anything, but it makes me feel better to pretend I'm easing his pain.

By the time I'm sure I'm causing him more pain than anything else by wiping the cloth over his lip, I place it next to me on the coffee table. I rest my hands in my lap and release a sigh. The bruise on his cheek is getting darker by the second, as is my mood. I feel horrible. I know he has hurt me more than any other person on this Earth. But I allowed it. I allowed it for over a year. So he got rough. It's not like it hasn't happened before. _But this time was different._ I wish I could just ignore that, but it's the truth. It was different. He had never physically restrained me before. It was something that I did not like. It made me feel weak, powerless, as if I had no control over my body. _And you didn't._

If only I could get these thoughts to stop. I have always been good at repressing painful memories. I don't see why this time is so much different. _It's because you love him. _

And it's true. I do love him. And that's what makes this so much worse. I look up at his battered face, and I can't help that pang. That feeling that he is the man that I'm supposes to be with for the rest of my life.

Unconsciously my hand had been reaching out to cradle his damaged cheek. When I realize what I'm doing, I hesitate, my hand frozen in mid-air. I am unsure how welcome my touch would be at that moment and I begin to withdraw. Suddenly Edward's hand comes forward and gently grabs mine. I am truly shocked as he slowly brings our clasped hands to his face and uses his hand to guide mine to the spot I had been craving to soothe.

His skin is warmer than it should be because of the bruise, but just as soft as I remember. I smile thinking of how he is always so cleanly shaven. Routines. Edward always has his routines, one of which is shaving every morning, no matter where he is or how late he wakes up.

My eyes still haven't met his, ashamed I guess. I know I'll have to look at him at some point, but right now all I want to do is enjoy the simple pleasure of his skin under my hand. I allow my eyes to close as I softly begin to make circles using the pad of my thumb. I hope it's a soothing motion, but I'm not altogether sure it's not hurting him. He makes no move to stop me, so I continue. My fingers ghost over his face, just relishing in the feel of him.

We remain this way until Edward decides to break the silence.

"I never meant to hurt you."

He sounds defeated. I immediately search out his eyes with my own. He is gazing directly at me and I wonder how long he has been watching me.

I retract my hand from his face and return it to my lap. As my fingers leave him, a sigh leaves his lips. I'm not exactly sure what that means but it gives me hope. At least I know he still craves my touch. But that's never really been the problem.

"I'm sure you never _meant_ to hurt me, but did you ever consider my feelings?" He just looks at me as if he has no idea what I'm talking about. So I continue on.

"I've told you that I love you. On many occasions. Do you have any idea how it feels to love someone and have them use you?"

We had retained eye contact so far, but as the word "use" leaves my lips, he turns away. We both know that's exactly what he's been doing. But I need answers.

"Did you ever care about me? If even for only a minute?"

At these words, his head snaps up. His face gets hard, but his eyes burn.

"Of coarse I did! Of coarse I _do_! How could you even think for a moment that I don't?"

I look at him incredulously.

"How could I think you did?" I all but shout at him. "You have never once even hinted that you wanted me for more than my body."

Edward looks almost insulted by my words. But I won't take them back. They are completely true.

He looks as if he's about to argue, but suddenly he looks saddened.

His reply is so soft, I almost miss it.

"I'm sorry."

I let out a sigh. I don't want apologies. Well, maybe I do. But above all, I just want to know how he feels. And that's exactly what I tell him.

"I don't need to hear your apologies, Edward. They don't mean anything unless I know what going on inside your head, what's going on inside your heart."

My eyes plead with him to be honest. I reach for one of his hands and he doesn't object. I bring it to my lips and place a light kiss to the back of his hand before I envelop it in both of mine. I start aimlessly drawing shapes trying to distract myself from the intensity of this conversation. Maybe even soothe him enough to get him to open up.

He takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment before releasing it in a noisy sigh. What leaves his lips next surprises me more than almost anything else he could have said.

"I do care for you, Jasper. More than I'd like to admit."

His statement would have made me completely ecstatic if it wasn't for the ominous ending. I try to ignore it and just be happy that he admitted for caring for me, but I can't.

"What do you mean by 'more that you'd like to admit'? Are you ashamed of me?"

He quickly back tracks, but the damage is done. I feel the emptiness returning.

"That's not what I meant! Not at all. It's just hard for me to express how I feel!"

I remain quiet. I start to retract my hand from him, but his other hand shoots out and wraps around mine, keeping them in place.

"No. Please. I know I haven't treated you right and I know you have no reason to believe me now. But please, don't pull away." His voice is almost desperate and I want so badly to believe him.

He mumbles something under his breathe. I can't be certain, but it sounded like, "I need you."

"Edward." I say his name with sad eyes and I know he can hear how conflicted I am. "I want so badly to believe you, but I just don't understand how you can say you care for me and still have put me through all of this."

Edward looked so remorseful that I want so badly to go to him, but I just couldn't. He hadn't given me his explanation yet.

"Jasper. There are things about me that you don't understand." He seemed almost desperate for me to get it, as if I'd be able to just read the story in his eyes. He now has a death grip on my hand and I make no move to loosen it.

"You need to explain it to me then." I was getting frustrated now. He wasn't telling me something. Something crucial in understanding why all of this was happening.

"Edward, I can't read your mind. I will never be able to understand unless you straight out tell me. I'm begging you." And I was. By this point was in desperate need of some answers.

"It's-" He seems to be struggling to get out even a word. I patiently wait as he tries to gather his thoughts. I bring our clasped hands to my lap and continue to draw soothing circles into his palm.

He takes a deep breathe and begins.

---

**AN: I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger. I was going to get in Edward's confession but it was just getting too long and the last line was just too perfect. I promise I'll have it out by tomorrow. **


	5. What's Happened Here

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Though in my dreams I own both, if you know what I mean ; )**

**Warning: Violence and Abuse.**

**AN: I wasn't sure if I was going to put EPOV in my story or not, but this scene was just begging to be written by Edward. **

**What's Happened Here**

EPOV:

I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. I can feel myself begin to shake as memories I had long hoped to bury were brought to the surface. I knew if I didn't start explaining myself, I would loose Jasper forever. And that was something I knew I couldn't handle. I would regret it for the rest of my life. So many things I had done to him. I still can't believe what I did to him. It disgusts me, but there's no taking it back now. The only thing I can do now is tell the truth and hope he forgives me.

"It all started when I was about 8 years-old. My dad was some sort of business man, being 8 I never really asked for specifics. But his company was having cutbacks and my dad's entire department was cut. My dad was never able to keep a job for more than a few months, I didn't find out until later it was because of his drinking problem."

"At first I didn't really notice the differences. He'd miss a few dinners, he'd have random bouts of anger, but I figured it was only stress. But it just continued to get worse. My dad started getting home later and later. At the time I couldn't understand why he would come home at 4 in the morning, slamming doors and shouting. The first time it happened I jumped out of bed and ran to the banisher at the top of the stairs. I was sure something was wrong. And it was; it just wasn't what I thought it was going to be. My mother was there, trying to get him to quiet down, she was afraid he was going to wake me; she didn't know he already had. My father started yelling at her to quit hassling him, but she just continued to try and quiet him. My father looked up and saw me peeking from behind the banisher. This seemed to anger him and he yelled for me to go back to bed. I couldn't figure out what I'd done wrong, I just got back into bed and cried."

"That man was not my father. My father drove me to my baseball games and wished me luck with a high five. My father would carry me on his shoulders and spin me around. My father loved us, especially my mother. He would never yell and scream at her until she cried."

"I can still remember the countless nights I heard my mom crying through the thin walls in our apartment. She'd just cry and cry and cry until she finally fell asleep. I wanted to go to her, but I know she didn't want me to see her like that."

That thought left a bitter taste in my mouth as I continued my tale.

"As time passed, his drinking continued to worsen. We wouldn't see him for days at a time and when he did return home, he would reek of booze and, if we were lucky, he'd just crash on the couch. I remember waking up every morning wondering if I'd find him passed out in the living room or not."

"I wished he would just leave and never come back. I would hear my parents arguing all the time. I always wondered why she didn't just leave him. He was a violent drunk, always slamming doors and throwing things. Did she think she was keeping our family together? Did she really think this was better than if we just left? I guess I'll never know what was going through her head."

I have to stop talking for a moment. The ache in my chest was becoming unbearable. As I take calming breaths, I feel Jasper squeeze my hand. I can't look at him. There are too many emotions running through my body. I decide the best thing I can do is just finish my story. The sooner I finish, the sooner I can stop thinking about it.

"We ended up selling our house, the house I had grown up in. Since he could never keep a job, he just stopped trying. He'd just go to bars all day and spend my mother's hard earned money. We moved into an apartment building on the other side of town. It was a dingy place on the fifth floor, but it was home."

I scrunch my nose thinking of it. If only we hadn't had to sell the house, maybe I'd have a completely different future. Thinking about what could have been is never a good idea and I quickly change my course of thinking. I decide continuing with the story is the best way to go and I quickly carry on.

"I got my first job when I was 13. I knew that if I didn't start saving, I'd never be able to afford college. Plus my mom need help keeping up with all the bills. Every month, we just barely scraped by."

"Along with my other job, I started helping our landlord with all the odd jobs that go along with an apartment building in Chicago. She was a nice old lady. Her name was Mrs. Williams. She knew what was going on with my father, but she never mentioned it. Her husband had died and she couldn't keep up with all the maintenance the building needed. In exchange for my help, she gave us a cut on the rent. It helped out a lot, she even gave us leeway on when the rent was due."

A sad sigh leaves my lips as I think of her. She really did make all the difference in those days. I knew the next part of the story would be the most painful, but I knew it had to be said.

"It was my sixteenth birthday when it happened. I had hoped my father could sober up for just one day and celebrate with us as a family. I had heard my parents fighting about it the night before. She was practically begging him to not mess this up for me, to just be my father for one day."

"I had celebrated with my friends earlier in the week. We had spent an entire day doing nothing, just hanging out and being kids. For the entire day, I had forgotten that my family was broken, that I no longer had a father. For that one day I could pretend that I had a normal life. But times like that never lasted. He always came back in his drunken stupor, yelling and angry."

I cut off suddenly. I'm not sure how much more of this I'll be able to take. My breathing has become shallow and painful. I look up and Jasper is looking at me with so much love and understanding that my heart breaks for all the things I have put him through. He deserves to know this. He deserves to know why. Why I'm unable to tell him how I feel. Why I treat him with such coldness. Another deep breathe, and I'm ready to continue.

"My mom was never one to cook, she was too busy trying to keep up with work. She had spent all day in the kitchen, preparing what she called a "home-made birthday dinner". She had been excited all week, watching the cooking channel at all hours. She had even bought an apron just for the occasion. I had made fun of her for it, but I secretly liked how happy she seemed. So when my dad didn't even come, I was furious."

"My mother had asked for one thing. For him to come. And he couldn't even do that. She had tried so hard to give me one normal birthday. We had waited for three hours. She tried to keep her face neutral, make small talk, but I knew how she was feeling; I was feeling it too. Disappointment. Anger."

"We went to bed a few hours later, both of us wondering if he'd be home tonight. It wasn't until around 4 the next morning that I woke to the sound of the front door slamming closed. I remember because I looked over at the clock on my nightstand. I listened as he climbed up the stairs. I heard him as he tried to open the door to my mother's bedroom. It's locked, like it is every night. My mother's smart; she knows to never let him into their room when he'd been drinking. I could hear him banging on their door, yelling for her to let him in. This wasn't the first time he'd done this, far from it. He usually got tired after ten minutes and leaves, but he wasn't leaving."

"He seemed to get angrier and angrier as time went on. After twenty minutes of his yelling, I was starting to get scared that he'd actually break the door down. I got out of my bed and went to confront him."

"I yelled out to get his attention. I could easily see him with the light coming through the window. It may be 4 in the morning, but Chicago never sleeps. The light from the buildings surrounding us easily light up our small hallway. I had asked him to leave in the firmest voice I could muster, hoping he would listen. He made no move, not even to acknowledge that he'd heard me. He just continued to pound on the door. I was getting angry now. He had no right to do this to us, today of all days. I walked up to him and pushed him, just hoping to get his attention. What I didn't expect was for his fist to swing out of nowhere and hit me square in the face. I stagger into the wall, hitting my head with a loud thud. I was so shocked by the fact that he'd just hit me that I had no time to block myself against his next punch. He hit me right in the gut, easily knocking the air out of me. I fell to the floor, the pain immense. Every breath seemed to burn through my lungs. In the back of my mind, I could hear my mom yelling and I know I need to do something. I can't let him hurt her. I force myself to stand and try to work through the pain. My sight is blurry from the tears forming at my eyes, it just hurts so much. I can see them now. My mom is trying to force my dad out the door. It would be a funny sight if I wasn't so scared for her. Here is this tiny woman, not even 5'5, trying to push this obviously drunk 6'2 man out the door."

"He seems to be in a stupor and she is able to get him all the way out the door before he realizes what she's doing. They're now in the hallway, shouting. He's yelling about how this is his house and how she can't make him leave and she just keeps repeating that he needs to leave. Over and over and over she says it. He seems to be getting agitated and I try to make my way over to them by as I try to take a step, I crumple to the ground. I try to stand again, using the wall for support. I don't try to walk on my own again. I grasp the wall as if it's the only thing keeping me grounded, and it is. Step by step I make it closer to them. As my dad grabs my mom by the wrists and starts shaking her, I hasten my steps. But the hallway just seems to get longer and longer. He's shouting at her again and she's whimpering in pain. I'm begging for someone to help us, anyone. How can my neighbors now hear this? I'm almost to the door when it happens."

"My mother tries to escape him, pushing against him with all her might. He releases her, but the joy I feel is short lived. He turns to her and lets out a murderous roar. He takes her by the shoulder and pushes her. He pushes her straight down the stairs. People always say it happens in slow motion. But it was the opposite for me. It all seems to happen in a blink of an eye. One second she's there, and the next she's tumbling down the stairs."

"There's nothing I can do but watch and she fall, flight after flight for 4 stories. My breath catches in my throat and everything seems to fade into the background. The only thing I want to do is go to her. Without thinking I try to take another step and my legs give out under me. I'm so frustrated. I need to get to her and my body is preventing me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I can hear sirens but I'm too focused on my mother. I can't see her from where I lay, and I don't know if that's better or worse. The next thing I know, my father is over me. Before I can even look up, he kicks me in the side of the head and everything goes black."

---

**AN: So I decided to put Edward's past into two chapters. It was just getting to be too much. But two chapters in one day? You know that's good.**


	6. We're Not Through Yet

We're Not Through Yet

EPOV:

I didn't realize I had tears rolling down my cheek until I felt Jasper's warm hand on my face. He gently wiped the tears away and came to sit next to me on the couch. He returned his hand to mine, and I suddenly felt cold.

I took my hand from Jasper's. He instantly tensed and started to pull away but before he would, I wrapped my arm around his waist and pulled his warm body against mine. With my free hand, I grabbed both of his and brought them to my lap.

He relaxed into my arms and leaned his head against my shoulder. I would have loved nothing more than to just stay as we were, but my story wasn't over just yet. I squeezed Jasper's hand and took a deep breath. This time when I continued, my voice was nothing more than a whisper.

"I woke up two days later in the hospital, a nurse by my side and a cop by my door. I was so disoriented. My head was spinning and it seemed like every point on my body was aching."

"The nurse hadn't noticed I was awoke yet and when I tried to speak all that resulted were a rough syllable and a coughing fit. The nurse instantly came to my side and handed me a glass of water before going to the cop and telling him to go find my doctor."

"By the time I was done with my cup of water, a doctor had arrived. I couldn't tell you much about him, but he was a nice man. He didn't talk down to me as if I was a small child. He informed me that I had a concussion and two broken ribs. Thankfully, there had been no major swelling in my brain and that there would be no lasting damage."

"It was about that time that I remembered exactly what happened. My brain had remained fuzzy as he had been explaining my injuries, but as the last bit of fog left my mind, I could remember with great clarity the events of that night. I instantly shot up in my bed, resulting in sharp pain originating from my broken ribs. A groan of pain escaped lips, but I tried to ignore the pain the best I could and asked how my mother was."

"Everyone just stared at me with a saddened look. I refused to comprehend what that meant. Instead I went into a frenzy, shouting for my mother and demanding somebody tell me where she was. The people in the room just let me rant and rail for a good ten minutes before a nurse finally came to my bedside. She took my hand and told me in the gentlest voice she could that my mother was gone, that her injuries had been too extensive. She tells me that she hadn't been in pain, and that everything was going to be okay. But everything _wasn't_ going to be okay. My mother was dead and my father was to blame."

"I sat in my hospital room and cried. I couldn't tell you how long I stayed there under the covers on the stiff hospital mattress and just cries. I never made a sound, just let the tear fall."

"I was in so much turmoil. Going over every possible thing I could have done. I could have gone out sooner. I could have fought harder against him. I could have made my mom leave him. There were just so many things I could have done. They rolled around in my head until I wished I could just die. But there was no time no mourn."

"The next few days went by in a flurry of activity. The police questioned me for hours about the events of that faithful night along with an entire list of questions on my family's private life. It wasn't until I had answered every single one of their questions that they answered any of mine. The police informed me that they had arrived on scene thanks to a neighbor calling 911. It turns out my father had scaled down our 5 story fire escape after knocking me unconscious. The idiot didn't even try to flee. They found him at his usual bar the next day. He was to be put on trial and I was to stay with my grandparents. I didn't even know I had grandparents. I had been led to believe that I had no living relatives. It turns out that my mother had gotten into a giant argument over her marrying my father. I couldn't help but whole-heartedly agree. Their names were Carlisle and Esme Cullen, and they were my saving grace. They got me counseling and gave me a place to call home. They made me feel safer than I had in years. They were such kind-hearted people. They died in a car crash about a year and a half ago."

I hear Jasper gasp and I know he has connected the day of the crash with the day I went to him.

It had been a month since I'd met Jasper at my music store. Music was the one thing that really helped me get over the death of my mother. Whenever I felt like I was suffocating in my misery, I'd go to my piano and play the song I had written that reminded me so much of her. Her smile. Her laugh. It all seemed to meld together with the music and sing to my heart.

It had been one of those days, one those days where you just don't want to get out of bed. Kate, one of my employees, has gotten sick at the last minute. I had given Garrett the day off and I didn't want to call him, so I decided to go in myself. I had been feeling off all day and business was slow. I decided it wouldn't hurt if I went to my piano and played for a while.

I was so engrossed in my music that I didn't hear the bell that signaled a customer had arrived. As my song came to a finish, I closed my eyes and I could feel a single tear roll down my cheek.

I suddenly felt a warm hand wiping away my tear and my eyes snapped open. I hadn't even realized there was another person in the building, no less sitting on the bench next to me. The first thing that caught my attention was his eyes. They were a deep crystal blue, almost sapphire. He also had tears in his eyes. But what I noticed above his beauty was the compassion that seemed to radiate off him.

It made me wonder how a complete stranger could feel so much empathy for another when they didn't even know the cause. We had simply sat there staring at each other until we were broken from our daze by the bell signaling another customer. At that point the stranger with the kind eyes had simply smiled at me and placed a piece of paper on top of my piano.

I simply stared as he stood from his spot on the bench and left. Long after he'd gone I'd simply gazed at the door. There was just something about him that drew me in.

I carefully lifted the piece of paper and studied it. The first thing I notices was the handwriting. It was neat, almost formal. It seemed like he wrote each letter with great care. I knew it was silly to think about things like that, but it just seemed to fit him. Next, I noticed the words. At the top of the page was a name. Jasper Whitlock. Such an odd name, but he was a odd person. Unique, really. How many people do you know who would walk in to a music store, buy nothing, and then leave without so much as a word, but leave a note?

The air of mystery around him intrigued me, but above everything, I remembered his eyes. They were just so full of caring. They were just so beautiful. Under his name, was a number. That was it. Just his name and his number. Or so I thought.

I found myself bringing the note home with me at the end of the day and just staring at the neat script. I had placed in on my bedside counter, forgetting about it until I opened the window and a gust of air had knocked it to the floor. I had instantly ran to retrieve it. And as I bent down, I saw something written on the back. I stood up, note in hand, and sat on the edge of my bed. It was too dark to decipher it, so I leant over and turned on the lamp. The words I read next shocked me.

'If you ever need anyone, give me a call'.

I didn't know if I should feel confused or relieved. I knew he had no way of knowing what had caused me so much pain, but it was almost comforting to have this complete stranger notice. Not only notice, but feel the need to comfort me. It made me feel as if someone cared, as if someone was watching out for me. I knew I didn't have the nerve to call him, but for some reason I couldn't find the will to throw it away. I neatly tucked it into the inside cover of a book, and placed it in my top drawer.

The day I received the call telling me that the two people that had been keeping me together for the last 8 years were gone, I felt completely alone. For some reason my mind went back to that day in the store. That compassionate stranger with the caring eyes. I don't know how, but I found myself tearing through my dresser trying to find that book; the book I knew had the note inside. I neatly tore off the cover in my haste to find the note. I impulsively typed the number on the paper into my phone and held it to my ear. It rung only twice before I heard a voice at the other end. I couldn't tell you what I told him, except that I needed to see him.


	7. Notes

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

**AN: To clear some things up - In my mind, they had been mostly physical. But for Edward that's what he needed, to know that someone was there for him. They did also talk. They never spoke of their pasts or families, but they knew each other. They knew how to interpret each others moods and what the other needed. They knew who each other were on the inside, without all the superficial things of this world.**

**Notes**

JPOV:

I had had so many expectations for tonight. I had hoped for so many things. But not even in my wildest dreams had I allowed myself to hope for this. Edward was finally opening up to me. He was telling me everything. He was letting me hold his hand and comfort him.

I was shocked to say the least. I knew something horrible had happened to him. He was always so full of sadness that no matter how much I wished I could help him forget, he never fully did.

My mother was my whole world growing up. I can't even imagine how he must have felt. To literally watch as she fell to her death and not be able to do anything. I wanted to ask so many questions, but I knew now wasn't the time for that. He seemed so deep in thought, I worried he would completely break down with the memories so fresh.

He was so strong. To spend years watching as your father tore apart your family. He was forced to grow up far before his time. I had always known that, but it was different. I now knew what had caused him to be worn far past his years.

I had known from the moment I saw him that he was special. I had just moved to Chicago. I had been so busy getting myself settled that I never really took the time to explore the city. So when I needed to go and get my mother a birthday present, I had no idea where to go. I knew exactly what I was going to get her, but the problem was where.

My mother's a lyricist. When I was growing up there were always sheet music and partially formed sentences written on every available surface. We even had an entire wall in our living room covered in her scrawl. I had joked with her all my life how she was in desperate need of some organization. I started buying her composition books and dry erase boards when I was about 10. I loved my mother dearly, but if she wasn't careful she'd get lost in a pile of her own notes.

When I asked a friend from work where he thought I might find something like that, he enthusiastically told me of this small music store downtown by the name of Notes.

I decided to go as soon as I could. I'm not proud, but I am definitely a procrastinator. I figured it'd be best to just get it done with and eliminate the temptation.

When I arrived at the store, I could feel that there was something special about it. This may sound strange, but the place just felt magical, enchanted. It was like the place was a haven, a place someone would go and instantly feel safe.

I walked in and the feeling that I was somewhere extraordinary increased. It may have been the way the store made me feel like home. Or it could have been the heart-breaking melody floating through the air.

The moment I heard it, I was entranced. I forgot what I was supposed to be doing and my legs automatically carried me closer to the source of the music.

As I turned a corner, I see him.

There's a man sitting at a piano. His back is to me but he can't be older than 25. The way he bends over the piano makes him seem aged. His head is bowed as if he's offering himself over to his music. His shoulders rise and fall from the intensity of his concentration and his fingers fly across the keys in intricate patterns.

Being the son of a lyricist has taught me some things about music. I know every song will sound different to a different listener. I know each song will contain a different meaning. Just watching this man interact with his piano makes it obvious that this song has great meaning to him.

I don't wish to disturb him, but I felt drawn to him. I slowly approach him as his fingers continue to compose a whirl-wind of melodies all mingling together to create a heart-wrenching tune filled with sorrow and loss.

His music makes me feel small, insignificant, as if I am merely a single note floating through a world of sound.

Before I realize it, I am sitting beside him on the bench. It amazes me how much sorrow can be heard in his every note. I literally ache for him. His song picks up speed and I'm stunned at the grace with which his fingers move. The mood of the song darkens and I'm left wondering how much darkness one person's soul can hold. The song is so saturated with emotion that I'm astounded that his fingers never once falter.

All of a sudden the song stops, closing with a dramatic flair. The last note seems to resonate throughout the room, covering it in a fog of sadness.

The musician just sits there, unmoving. His fingers remain motionless on the keys, the ghost of his song forever imprinted on my heart.

Its then, as the last of his song fades into the background, that I see his face for the first time. He has tilted it up, as if basking in the heat of the sun. The first thing I notice is his jaw line. It's sturdy and smooth; it gives him an air of sophistication. His nose is slightly crooked, but that only seems to add to the whole character of his face. His deep brown hair is longer than I had originally though, going past his ears in slight waves His eyes are closed and a single tear begins to roll down his cheek.

The tear continues to streak down his face and I can't help but slowly reach out and wipe it away. His eyes snap over, startled, but he doesn't pull away. I'm mesmerized. His eyes speak of such pain. I am trapped within his gaze, staring into a deep emerald green.

I can feel tears I didn't know I had fall down my cheeks and land in my lap. I refuse to move, afraid I'll surprise him with any sudden movements. He seems so fragile, yet at the same time wild, as if he stands apart from society.

It saddened me to think of this beautiful man, all alone with his pain. His sadness called to me like a beacon and I can't help but want to respond.

I couldn't tell you how long we stayed like that, eyes locked, not saying a word. I knew it was nearing 10:00 based on the amount of light that was now streaming in through the windows. I had made plans with my mother for an early lunch. It was no coincidence that I had chosen today to do my shopping.

My mom had moved down here a few tears ago and she was a major factor in me deciding to take a teaching position here in the city.

I knew I had to leave soon, but I couldn't find it within myself to leave just yet.

The sudden ringing of a bell alerted us of the presence of others. We had been so wrapped up in each other that we hadn't noticed that other people had come into the store. I took this as a sign that it was time for me to leave, but I couldn't go without leaving something. I could tell this man was broken and I felt as if I was the one who was meant to help him, possibly even save him. I tore off a piece of paper I found in my pocket and wrote my name and number on it. But I felt like it needed something more.

I knew I had to leave now, as in that second. If I waited any longer I would be sucked into the depth of his eyes and there would be no telling when I'd be able to escape again. I quickly made up my mind and wrote the message that I so wanted to tell him.

'If you ever need anyone, give me a call'

It was simple and to the point. All I wanted to do was let him know that there were people out there that cared. I gently placed the paper on top of his piano and left. I know it was crazy, but I felt as if he'd call me. I didn't know when, but I knew he would.

---

**AN: I sorry it's so short. I'm not entirely sure how the next scene is going to go (or even who's POV I want it in) and I didn't want to keep you waiting, so I thought it would be best to post this part.**


	8. Awakening

**DISCLAIMER: I love these boys. But sadly, I do not own them. **

**Awakening**

EPOV:

I was completely drained, emotionally and physically. Jasper and I had been sitting on this couch for the last couple hours, just relishing in each other's presence. I knew we still had things to talk about. But if I had my way, we'd have a lifetime to talk about them.

Jasper has been so great. I had always feared that once he knew the truth, he would fully realize how broken I was and leave. I was afraid he would see that it was my fault that my mother was dead and would be disgusted by me. Neither happened and I was both relieved and anxious. Relieved that he still loved me but anxious that one day he would realize these things and disappear from my life forever.

Yet, I felt freer. It had always felt like fate had dealt me a bad hand and I had been coping with it my whole life. One thing after the next seemed to happen. I was either dealing with the aftermath of an event or having a new one occur.

My whole childhood had revolved around my home life. I had been adjusting my life around my father, and by association my mother, since before I could remember. I had to constantly worrying about whether my dad would come home, and if he did, how inebriated he'd be. I was left wondering how all the bills would get paid, and if we didn't have enough, whether water or heating was more important. Then there was school and work. Trying to balance good grades with money, trying to decide which would help me more, scholarships or tuition. Even trivial things like whether we had enough money for groceries had weighted on my mind.

Then there was that faithful night, as I like to refer to it as. That was definitely one of the major turning points in my life. In one night I had lost my mother, been put in the hospital, met a set of grandparents I didn't even know existed, and moved into a new house with almost strangers. My life had become a whirl-wind of ever constant change.

Years went by and I was lulled into a false sense of security. I had graduated from college and opened my own store. I was starting to feel stable in my new life. Then it happened. A car crash. It astounded me how something so random could change it all for me. How a single act of fate had completely thrown me for a loop. Esme and Carlisle had been my rock, the ones to keep me stable in an unstable world. When they were unexpectedly ripped form me, I had no idea what I was going to do. If it wasn't for Jasper, I have no idea where I'd be right now. Most likely in a ditch somewhere.

My life became more stable then, but I wouldn't say I was particularly happy. I had Jasper, but I didn't _have_ him. I was always keeping him at arms length. And had continued to keep him there for over a year.

I felt so much freer now that Jasper knew the truth. I wasn't healed, or even whole, but I was on my way to becoming a better man. I knew I had a lot to make up for, and I thought this was the perfect way to start. For so long I hadn't allowed us any intimate contact. Unless it meant sex.

We now lay horizontally on the couch with my back to the couch and Jasper's back to me. My arms are wrapped tight around his waist and our hands lay clasped together on his stomach. He's playing with my fingers, and it makes me smile. It's such a childish thing to do, so sweet and innocent. Jasper has always been one for simple signs of affection. A bitter smile attempts to over-ride my previously wistful smile as I think of all the times he had given me these affectionate touches and I had brushed them off, averse to letting him touch me in that way. Jasper deserved so much better than a person unwilling to even allow another to show any kind of affection.

Jasper is such a beautiful person, so caring and thoughtful. Sometimes to the point where it caused me pain. I felt like I was deceiving him, almost like I was pretending to be a good person. I would randomly lash out at him as a way of trying to convince him that I wasn't worthy of him and that he'd be better off without me. But he never gave up on me. He would never truly understand how grateful I am for that. And for him.

I tighten my arms around him, trying to dispel the thoughts of all the times I had treated him unfairly or callously. He never deserved any of that. Jasper never deserved any sort of unkindness.

Jasper releases my hands and I look down at him curiously. He merely smiles and turns in my arms. He tucks his head into my chest and places a kiss over the thin layer of my shirt, right over my heart. It's such a sweet notion that my eyes begin to tear again as I think of all the awful things I had done to try to push him away. He deserved nothing less than to be loved whole-heartedly. And I wished with all my might that I'd be able to give him that. Yet I knew I wouldn't be able to say the words out lout. At least not yet. The last person I had told that I loved them, had been my mother.

I had loved Esme and Carlisle too, but I had never been able to vocalize it. It was one of my biggest regrets, but I know if I had the chance that I still wouldn't be able to say those three words aloud.

A rough sigh leaves my lips and I sink my face into Jasper's golden curls and lay a kiss there as I breathe in the scent of him. He smells of clean laundry and sweetness.

At some point I can hear Jasper's breathing even out as he drifts off to sleep. There is no noise beside that of Jasper beside me and the city outside.

It is then, with a sleeping Jasper in my arms and a heart full of old wounds, that I realize I feel safe. Not just here with Jasper, but in my own skin.

I still fear that I will become just like my father and hurt everyone I care about, but I feel secure in the fact that Jasper is here, by my side, at this very moment.

---

I wake up with a stiff neck and a warm body beside me. At first I'm confused. I haven't literally slept with a person next to me in longer than I can remember, maybe ever. It just seemed like too intimate a thing to do. There had been the occasional night where I would crash after a long night of sex, but never anything like this. Never intentionally.

Some time during the night, Jasper had moved. He now lies directly on top of me, his face snuggled into my chest. It's a little difficult to breathe but I can't bring myself to wake him.

As I look at him, I notice a peacefulness that I had never seen before. His face doesn't contain any of the lines I had previously noticed, nor does his mouth turn down at the corners. I lift my arms and bring them carefully around him, where they rest on his back. I hold my breath for a moment as he moves in his sleep, but he soon settles and falls into my embrace. I wonder how long it's been since someone has held him like this and I feel remorse for never allowing it.

I love the feeling of his body against mine. I always have, but things are different now. I'm finally allowing myself to enjoy aspects of our closeness other than the physical pleasure.

I like how sturdy Jasper is. His tone muscles make me feel safe and secure in the fact that he won't be as easily torn from me as others before him have. The softness of his skin reminds me of his kindness. I wish I could feel more of his skin against mine, but it's probably a good thing that I can't. I don't want Jasper to think I only want him for his body. When he had said those words to me, my heart had ached.

I may have wanted him to know that I wasn't good enough for him, but I never wanted him to feel as if he was merely an object, that he was only worth the amount of pleasure he could bring.

I had shown Jasper more of myself than I had any other person alive. It wasn't much, but I had hoped that he had known what strong feelings I had for him.

I'm pulled from my thoughts as Jasper began to move in his sleep. He starts squirming as if he is trying to find a comfortable position. I smile as he becomes more restless, but I begin to fear that he will roll right off the couch if he doesn't stop soon. I tighten my arms around him and he jerks away. His eyes snap open and the pure shock in his eyes makes me laugh. At the sound, his eyes soften and start to sparkle. A slow smile makes its way across his lips and mine turn up in return. I lean forward, placing as gentle a kiss as I can on his lips and whisper a quiet, "Good Morning."


	9. Dream

**Dream**

JPOV:

I was having the most wonderful dream. Edward was here with me. He had just told me everything I had ever wished to hear. Well, almost.

He told me he cared, and that he needed me. He told me his heart-breaking past and how it contributed to his attitude toward our relationship. It was my dream come true. If only it wasn't a dream…

It makes me wonder if I missed my calling. The story Edward had spoken in the dream was so elaborate, beyond anything I ever thought I could make up, even in a dream. He had spoken of such details. His mother crying. The first time his father had come home drunk. It was a crazy swirl of imagery. I have this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that something is just…off.

I am just on the edge of consciousness. I am so afraid to open my eyes. I wish I could just live in this dream world where I know the man I love cares for me too. I didn't want to wake up alone in my room in my bed one more time.

Every morning I woke up alone, and it just reminds me of how truly alone I am. I try to think positively. I always have my family. My mom. My sister. Oh how I miss my sister. Rosalie is three years older than me and has been living in New York since she got accepted to NYU. She met her dream man, Emmett, in her final year. At first they had a pretty rocky relationship. Rose was never one for commitment. It took her two years to finally wise up and moved in with Em. They got married six months later with a spontaneous visit to city hall. I was happy, and just a little envious, of her. \

And then I always have Alice. I smile just thinking of her. She's been my best friend since my first year of college. We met in the mandatory history class we had to take and bonded over our knowledge of historical facts. We already knew every single thing the teacher lectured on and the very first day we spent the whole class talking. We didn't really need to attend the class; we could easily pass the course without it, but it became a tradition of sorts. We'd talking about anything and everything.

When we finished college, I stayed and she left. To Chicago specifically. She opened a little bakery and I went to find a teaching position. I ended up back in Texas. We kept in touch. I felt secure in the knowledge that she was always there for me. So when my Ma moved to Chicago, it was a no-brainer to decide to move to Chicago when a job popped up. There was nothing left in Texas holding me there. It was closer to my mom and Alice, not to mention closer to Rose too.

They all knew about Edward. They all kept pushing me to either confront him or leave him in varying degrees. Rose was the most vocal on her opinion that I leave him. I most likely would have broken under the pressure if it wasn't for Alice. She was the greatest supporter of our relationship. I liked to think it was because she knew the most about it, but I fear it might also be because she is the greatest optimist I know and always looks for the best in people. For the most part my Ma just tells me to do whatever will make me happy. She really isn't much help on this part, but she's my Ma.

I give a mental sigh, not even wanting to risk a real one in fear of waking myself more than I already am. Thinking of all the people in my life has lifted my mood a bit, but I still wish to stay in my dream world for as long as possible. I squirm a bit in my sleep hoping a different position will prolong my time in my fantasy world.

It all feels so real. My dream Edward is with me, under me really. It's as if I can really feel the rise and fall of his chest, the faint thud of his heartbeat, the heat radiating off his skin. I wish I could just stay in this cocoon of warmth and love for eternity. I snuggle closer to my dream Edward and relish in how real he feels.

I can feel consciousness fighting to break to the surface and I try to fight it off the best I can. It's a loosing battle and we both know it. I start to roll around, as if physically fighting it away.

I'm startled from my dream by a pair of strong, familiar arms. They wrap tightly around me and they're the only thing keeping me from falling.

Within the span of a second, awareness hits. I remember yesterday and the revelations it brought with it. I'm ecstatic. My dream world is true, reality. I feel like jumping up and down, doing a happy dance, shouting with joy, something. But instead I stay right where I am, and right where I wish to remain. In Edward's arms.

Edward is laughing. And I'm guessing it's probably at me, but I don't mind. I don't think I've seen him this carefree in all the time I've known him. My happiness gets the best on me and I smile. A true smile. Maybe the first in a year.

He leans forward and places the gentlest kiss on my lips. It's so soft, I almost fear I imagined it. Edward's kisses always meant something. Usually it meant he wanted sex. But on the rare occasion that a kiss was just a kiss, it was usually when I was having unspoken doubts. It seemed that every time I was going to confront him, he would feel the shift in the air and act. He would give me a gentle kiss. Or at least gentle for us. Those kisses always made me have second thoughts on whether I wanted to risk what we had for answers. And every time I took the cowards choice.

I'm so lost in thought that I almost miss Edward's quiet voice.

"Good Morning."

The simple sentiment leaves him lips in a whisper. It's a common greeting, but it feels like a declaration. Edward has never been here to say good morning to me, he's never stayed long enough. Every time he came, I'd offer him to stay the night and every time he would decline.

I'm sure he's slept in my bed before, but never intentionally. And he'd always be gone before I woke up. It felt so good to hear him say those two words. They were a reminder that yesterday really had happened and that he was here. With me. Right now.

I don't return his greeting, I simply look at him, trying to gage his mood. In sleep I had relived the events of last night and basked in the pure happiness it brought me. But now, in my waking hours, doubt has crept its way into my system.

_Was last night a turning point? Will things be different now? What if things go back to the way they were? Would I be able to live with that? Would I be able to leave? Would I stay and keep living in uncertainty?_

All these thoughts float through my head. I hoped so much would change. I hoped that we could be more honest, more truthful. I hoped I'd be given the chance to learn and love this whole new side of Edward.

Everything was still so uncertain, so many things left unsaid. I needed explanations for so many things before we could even begin to build a true, healthy relationship. Did he even want that? He had told me he cared. He had never said he wanted anything more than what we had now. Would we forever be stuck on this level? Lovers but not truly lovers? Would he think that our relationship was worth the effort, the risk?

I knew I needed to ask, but I was afraid. He had already told me so much. I didn't want to push him further than he was ready to go, but I didn't know what else to do. We needed to get everything out in the open before we'd be able to move forward.

I knew nothing would get accomplished if I kept all these thoughts in my head and never spoke them. I took a deep breath and lifted myself from his chest. It wasn't helping that I could feel myself hardening as I felt his well defined chest under my finger, each groove bringing a different mental image to my head. Memories of various nights spent together playing right before my eyes.

I cleared my throat, trying to rid myself of those thoughts and scoot further from him. He's now laid across the full expanse of my couch while I sit in front of him on the edge of the couch. I could still feel the warmth radiating from his body and I couldn't help but crave to be closer.

I lift myself completely from the couch and sit down on my coffee table, knowing that I need the space between us in order to have this conversation.

The coffee table was still in the position I had put it in last night when I was cleaning his bloodied lip.

He sits up on the couch, most likely feeling the shift in my mood. His face is just so close to mine.

I can't stop myself from leaning forward and placing a chaise kiss on his lips. It feels so good to be able to do that, show my affection in another way besides sex. It apparently isn't enough for him and he leans forward to claim my lips with his.

His lips move against mine sensuously. He keeps it slow but the very way his lips move on mine are sexual. It's as if our lips are joining as one in a slow seductive kiss. His hands land on my knees and lightly trail up my thigh. His hands are creating the most delicious friction and as a small moan escapes me, he deepens the kiss.

He keeps the kiss slow and deep and I feel myself allowing him control. His hands wrap around my thighs and lift me onto his lap. I can feel him through his jeans. He's incredibly hard and another groan leaves my lips as out groins meet. My hips start to move against him, looking for more friction. I'm so painfully hard by this point that all I can think about is how much I want him. His lips leave mine and trail down to my neck. His lips are like fire against my skin. A growl leaves my lips as he hits the sensitive skin beneath my ear. Our hips are moving together and the sensations it causes in me cause my eyes to roll into the back of my head. But it all changes in a moment.

Edward lightly nips at my neck and the memories of what had happened less than a week ago flash through my head. I'm out of his lap and back on the coffee table faster than it takes to blink. My accelerated breathing seems to impossibly get faster. My chest is heaving heavily and I'm starting to fear a panic attack.

I look everywhere but at Edward as my breathing calms. I wait until I can no longer hear my heart beat thudding in my ear and turn to face him. He is still sitting on my couch. He has pulled his legs up and it now sitting cross-legged. His face is neutral but that in itself tells me he's trying to suppress some kind of emotion.

"Are you alright?"

His question startles me. I hadn't expected him to speak.

It's always me who has to break these silences. I'm happy he did this time. I don't think I have it in me at the moment to make the effort.

My head swirls with suppressed memories as I regain my voice.

"I'm fine."

I don't want to talk about it, I don't even want to think about it. I know we should but I really don't want to. I want to keep it locked away with all the other bad memories I wish to forget. The lock around my suppressed memories is starting to crumble and I am left clueless on how to deal with it. I can feel a single tear leak from the corner of my eyes. I quickly wipe it away, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"Jasper, I really don't think you're okay."

He says it gently, but it still feels like a slap to the face. He doesn't deserve to pity me. He's partially to blame for this. He has worn me down to my very core. My emotions have been scrubbed raw and I have no idea how to process it.

Should I shut down? Deflect? Get angry? Cry?

My indecision wins out and I am left just staring at him. Hands in lap and eyes dull.


	10. That Night

**That Night**

EPOV:

One moment I'm kissing his neck, slowly tracing the lines of his chiseled cheekbones, and the next he's gone. His warmth, that had previously surrounded me like a blanket, had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

I open my eyes slowly, and what I see shocks me more than I can say. Jasper has made his way back onto the coffee table, but it appears as if he hit it with no much force that it slid a few feet towards the center of the room.

The Jasper in front of me is not the calm and collected man I know, but a complete stranger. His chest heaves up and down as ragged breaths wrack his body. His eyes dart around the room as if searching for the answers to all the problems in the world.

The Jasper I know has been there for me at every turn, he's never shown a single sign of weakness. And here, right in front of me, is a man so weighed down by life that he can't even seem to pull in a full breath of air.

His breathing accelerates to a point where I'm afraid he might start hyperventilating. It's a wonder that he's even able to function. It seems like the harder he tries to calm his breathing, the heavier it becomes.

His eyes have landed on every item in the room at least twice, yet he hasn't so much as glanced at me. It's almost comical how his eyes flash from one object to the next. It's obvious that he is doing everything humanly possible to avoid looking at me.

I pull my legs up onto the couch, making myself comfortable as I observe him. I have no idea how long he will keep this up. There's only so long you can avoid looking at someone when they are sitting less than 6 feet from you. Right?

I watch his every little movement. His hands keep forming fists and then slowly uncurl as if it is the most difficult action he has ever attempted; over and over he does it. It's almost as though I can see the physical embodiment of his mental struggle. His shoulder blades twitch with the tension that has encompassed his body. I cringe as I imagine how uncomfortable he must be. I can tell he's trying to relax, but he's only causing greater strain on himself. His feet are bouncing so hard that I'm surprised that he hasn't initiated an earthquake.

He is really worrying me now. Jasper has always been my rock, my support system. It's unnerving to see him like this. I have no idea how to be anyone's anything, no less their caretaker. What am I suppose to do? Do I go to him? Give him room? I don't know. I'm exasperated at my own lack of experience in cases like this.

He seems to be calming and I try my best to keep my face impartial. I don't want him to know how freaked out I am or how panicked I've become at his sudden behavior. He turns my way and the look on his face disturbs me. It's a mix of emotions. But the most prominent is confusion. And fear. The look just doesn't suit my Jasper. I hate the mere thought that he is an pain.

"Are you alright?"

I say it in what I hope is a soothing voice, trying to calm him. He reminds me so much of a wild animal at this moment, flustered and frightened. I feel as if a single movement could send him into a panic.

"I'm fine."

His reply is anything but reassuring as his voice trembles and comes out hoarse.

The look in his eyes frighten me the most. They appear almost haunted and I feel a need to comfort him. I grip the couch beneath me, trying to control my impulses. Minutes pass and Jasper remains exactly where he is. He seems so far away even though he sits less than 6 feet away. I can't take the silence anymore. I've never been good at tense moments. I feel the panic rise in me, along with the worry. I have become a master at controlling my emotions over the years but right now I feel as if I'm going to burst at the seams. It takes all my will power just to keep my face blank.

"Jasper, I really don't think you're okay."

I'm thankful that my whispered statement seems to cause a reaction in Jasper. Just not the one I was hoping for.

He flinched as if he is in physical pain and I cringe in response. Emotions pool in his eyes like raindrops during a storm, angry and conflicted, clashing against each other, vying for dominance.

In a moment's time, they all disappear, fading into the background. I don't just mean the emotions; it's as if the life has been leached from him.

We sit in silence as I continue to watch him. His face has gone completely slack, no emotion in sight. But to the contrary, his body has gone rim rod straight. His muscles are tensed again and I'm clueless as to what to do. In the back of my mind I can't help but worry that all the tension in his body is going to end up physically hurting him.

I've never had to comfort anyone before. I've practically avoided emotion at all costs. As I see it, I have two options. One, remain where I am and hope that he comes out of this comatose state. Or two, go to him.

On one hand, I don't want to risk scaring him anymore than he already is. Plus, I'm absolutely terrified of what could happen. I don't want to mess thing up more than they are. But on the other hand, I crave to comfort him, to take him in my arms and make everything better.

My decision is clear.

I tentatively move my legs to the floor, feeling the carpet under my toes. I hesitate, but eventually stand. Jasper is less that a foot in front of me now, just sitting there. He looks so vulnerable at this moment and I can't help the surge of emotion that washes through my body as I look at him.

I sit next to him on the coffee table and timidly reach my hand out. It's less than an inch from his face when I stop. I'm apprehensive, and completely terrified.

I take a deep breath and decide that I'm going to try my best to comfort him.

My fingers barely graze his cheek. I can feel the heat from his body and I feel a surge of tenderness for the man before me.

He gives no sign that he either approves or disapproves of my presence.

I slowly trail my fingers down his cheek and over his jaw. Jasper doesn't make a move to stop me, and I take that as a good sign. I start my journey back to the apple of his cheek and along the indent of his dimples. A small smile slides over my lips as I picture his smiling face in my head. It's so parallel to the look upon his face now. This look and the image in my head should never be allowed to merge; they're not even on the same spectrum.

My fingers trail down his long neck and as I near the spot where his neck meets his collarbone, he violently jumps away from me.

His movements are so sudden. My hand remains stationary in the air and my eyes widen as he yells out.

"Don't touch me!"

His outburst startles me and I stutter pathetically, "I'm…I'm s-sorry."

I drop my hand to my lap and watch as he starts to pace around the room. He's mumbling to himself and I can just barely make out a word here and there. I catch phrases like "don't know what to do" and "how could he".

He's acting like a lunatic and I pay all the more attention to him.

As he's making his 20th circuit around that room, I see it. At first it just looks like a bruise, but then I look closer. On his neck is the distinct shape of a bite mark. My bite mark. I feel the dread and regret fill my body. Every feeling of uncertainty and surprise get thrown out the window as they are forcibly replaced by self loathing and shame.

I drop my head into my hands and everything becomes extremely clear. I hurt him. _Of course you hurt him._

How could I have been so stupid? I had refused to accept that I had really done what I _know_ I did. It was so easy for me to pass of that night as only a dream; a terrible, terrible dream. My dreams have always been vivid. I usually woke each morning breathing heavily and covered in sweat, unsure if they events that played through my head were a figment of my imagination or reality. This is part of the reason I never spend the night with anyone. Not even the most placid person would be able to keep their cool if they were woken by the screams of the man who lay beside them.

My mind has always tortured me with the ways I had hurt my family, my mother. My dreams are always full of morbid and appalling things, all things I fear I would and could do.

I was turning out just like my father; hurting everyone who cares for me. I had hoped and prayed that night had all been a part of my nightmares. I should have known this one was real; it had seemed so real, and now I knew it was.

As I watch the man that has been my meaning for life, I can't help but feel as if I don't deserve him, anything really. I had contemplated suicide many times in my life and I wish that I had gone through with it. That way Jasper could be ignorant to my existence. And happy.

I heave a sigh full of regret, desperately trying to hold back the tears I can feel burning behind my eyelids.

He deserves an explanation; he deserves everything.

"Jasper."

I barely whisper it, but I know he hears me. His pacing stops for an instant before he picks it back up, only faster. He doesn't turn to look at me and I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to look at me either.

"I am so, so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

He scoffs at me, and the bitterness eats at me because I know I deserve every bit of it and so much more.

"I know nothing I say can take back what I did to you. But if you'll allow me, I'd like to tell you why I did it."

I wait for his answer. I don't want to force my side of the story on him, not if he doesn't want to hear it. If he decides to hit me again, I'd let him. If he asks me to leave, I'd leave. If he tells me he never wants to see me again, I'd honor his decision. At this moment, I'd do whatever he asks.

All I get is a single, barely there, nod. But it's enough; more than enough.

As the next words leave my mouth I can taste the bitterness seeping through every word.

"That night… That night was the night I talked to my father for the first time in 9 years."


	11. The Dark Presence

**A Dark Presence**

EPOV:

"That night…That night was the night that I talked to my father for the first time in 9 years."

I feel myself falling into the memory as I begin explaining it to Jasper.

It was Tuesday afternoon. I had been working at the shop all morning, but when I came home for a late lunch, I decided to stay so I could go over this month's expenses.

I had been having a bad feeling all day. I had woken that morning with a dark presence floating over my head, threatening destruction.

It had been around 5:00. I'd been home for a couple hours now. I had spent 2 of them going over numbers and the last one relaxing. I could feel the tension leaving my body as I laid out on my worn, leather couch, but I still wasn't able to shake that bad feeling. It was starting to make me anxious.

I had been startled from my calm by the phone ringing. No one ever called me at home, except maybe Jasper and telemarketers.

At first I wasn't planning on answering it, but then I had a thought. What if it was Jasper? He would be able to rid me of this awful feeling. I was sure of it.

I quickly weighted my option. I could risk the chance of a telemarketer and also have the chance of talking to Jasper. Or I could remain on this couch. My peace was already broken and the feeling was amplifying, as if pushing me in a direction.

At the time I thought it was trying to get me up and off the couch. Now I know the feeling was warning me of events to come.

I forced myself from the comfort of the couch and jogged over to my kitchen. I hastily grabbed the phone off the hook as the final ring was almost cut off by the answering machine.

How I wish I has just let the machine get it.

"Hello?"

I hoped more than I wanted to allow myself, that it was Jasper.

I was disappointed as the voice was distinctly female, and then shocked at the word that left her mouth.

"Is this Mr. Mason?"

There was no greeting, just a monotone question from a bored and bitter woman.

My heat sank in that moment. I hadn't gone by that name in a long time. I couldn't stand owning a name that directly linked me to my father. This call could only be about him.

I sucked up the urge to lie and tell her I wasn't Mr. Mason, but the responsible, moral side of my brain wouldn't allow it.

"Yes, this is Mr. Mason."

My words were strained and cold. I had no more patience for this woman.

"A Joseph Mason would like to speak with you."

My immediate impulse was to slam the phone down and pretend none of this had ever happened. I had hoped that this was merely a formality, someone calling to tell me that my father was dead. I had hoped he was dead. Every single day since that very first day when I was eight I had wished him death. The man who had been my father had been drowned long ago by the persuasive power of alcohol and was to never be seen again.

I wanted to throw the phone as far as I could, so far no one would ever be able to get to me again. I wanted so badly to run, hide.

Instead I just asked why.

The woman released a sigh that could've crumbled a building and simple said, "He just wants to talk to you."

Her words were terse and I knew she was lying through her teeth. I had to wonder how a person who couldn't even lie ended up working for a prison.

I really didn't want to talk to him. I haven't heard from him since that faithful night and haven't seen him since the day of his trial. Life would be so much better is he just disappeared. Sometimes I liked to pretend he didn't exist, but then I think of Esme and Carlisle, my mother, even Jasper, and I'm painfully reminded of my father.

I have hurt every single one of these people. Everyone I have ever cared for has left me. _Except Jasper._ I have spent my entire life doing everything I can to prevent becoming just like my father. And I've failed miserably. I may not drink, but I have still manages to harm every single person who has ever been close to me.

Why did he have to contact me now? After so many years?

Right after my mother's death, I had been apprehensive. Would he try to contact me? What would I do if he did?

Every holiday and birthday I would anticipate a call, maybe even a letter. None ever came. I wish I could say that it meant nothing to me, that he meant nothing to me, but that would be a lie. The fact that my own father had never once tried to reach me, hurt.

This man had taken so much from me. He had taken away my mother, and he was no more a father to me than any stranger off the street. I was no better off than an orphan.

I always had Carlisle and Esme and I did love them, but they weren't truly my parents. In some ways they were better. They were kind and caring and they made me feel at home. But a grandparent's love is different than a parent's.

But the question I now faced was, do I want to talk to him?

My silence must have irritated the woman on the other side of the phone. Her irate voice made its way through the phone not a moment later.

"Are you still there, Mr. Mason?"

The woman to whom I spoke was like a timer, restricting the amount of time I had to decide.

My head swirled with images of the years before everything went wrong. Family dinners. Baseball games. I could feel the nostalgia seep into my skin and it saddened me how few good memories I had of my family. The bad memories overwhelmed all others. My father, the supposed provider, stumbling his way home. My father, the supposed protector, passed out in the middle of our living room floor. My father, the man who was suppose to love my mother, shouting; disrespecting her in every way. I can hear my mother's cries. I can see my father's angered face. All these images collide and merge until all I can hear and see is my mother falling. Falling and screaming. The sickening sound of her body being battered as she tumbles down the stairs. And then the quiet. The heartbreaking quiet that is so much worse than the screams. I don't hear so much as breathing and I know, I just know, that something is horribly, horribly wrong.

"Yes. I'm still here."

My voice was raspy and sounded far away.

"Well…Are you going to talk to him or not?"

The woman had gotten more and more agitated and I didn't feel one ounce of pity for her. My life was being pulled apart at the seams, the seams that had kept me together for all these years.

I sucked in a breath and savored it as if it were my last.

"Yes. I'll talk to him."

If only I'd have known the consequences to those 5 words.

"Hold while I transfer you."

No matter how anxious I had been, I was still happy I didn't have to deal with that woman anymore.

I held my breath, desperately trying to hold myself together. I felt queasy and I could only feel glad that I haven't eaten in hours. My heart was beating in my ear and I wished I could just make it stop.

I heard a click on the other end of the line, then a voice; a voice too familiar for comfort. It was aged and rough but it was easy to recognize.

"Edward."

His voice was gruff and monotone. He sounded almost bored. No joy. No hope. He seemed almost uninterested.

His voice had been the last thing I heard before my mom's screams and the first thing I heard after it ceased. His voice no longer holds any good memories for me and I cringed at hearing it. My emotions were too close to the surface for comfort. The memories had already broken through, and I was doing everything I could to keep it from showing.

"I'm here."

The words come out much too quiet. I had hoped for something firm, more steady. We remain in an uncomfortable silence as I wait for him to speak.

He lets out an irritated sigh, mimicking the tone he infuses in his voice when speaking.

"I only have a few minutes to talk, so I'm going to get straight to business. The courts have agreed to evaluate my case for parole. They are going to call you and ask you to attend. They aren't likely to grant me parole if the wronged party doesn't make a positive statement towards me."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I couldn't even breathe. How could they even think of letting him out? He killed someone. He killed my mother! He ruined my life. _He ruined me._

And now he was asking, no… he wasn't even asking. He was insinuating that I should help him. He doesn't even have the decency to ask.

I thought perhaps this was an olive branch, an apology maybe. I wouldn't have accepted it, I'm not that gracious, but it would've been nice to know he regretted it.

Instead he had asked me for a favor. He had taken my childhood and my mother and now he wanted a favor. I was disgusted.

I could taste blood in my mouth. I'd bitten my lips so hard I'd broken the skin. I run my tongue over my injured lip and my hand had balled around the phone. My fingers ached but as the anger rolled through me, infecting me, I couldn't find it in me to care.

"I will never, _never _help you. You have ruined me and I want nothing to do with you. Ever. You disgust me and I hope you rot in prison until the day you die."

I was seething. My words seemed to have little to no effect on him and his reply comes out calm and indifferent.

"Alright. I'll just have to make other arrangements."

The phone went dead and I stood in my kitchen trembling. I didn't know how it was possible, but I felt equal parts murderously anger and overwhelmingly vulnerability. _I wish there was just one part of my life I had control over. _

My mind refused to comprehend the fact that I had just spoke to my father. The man who bore me, the man that raised me, the man that disappointed me, the man that broke me.

My hands remained in a death grip around the phone as I scrambled to find reason. A reason for why my mother was dead, a reason I feel for why my whole world had been pulled from under me, a reason why the room was spinning, and a reason why my lungs were burning.

I could feel a scream on the tip of my tongue. Years of practice had taught me how to restrain my screams, my tears. My eye sight was blurring and I was starting to tremble.

The darkness was encroaching and I didn't even attempt to fight it off, I had no more energy left.

I woke up disoriented and confused. I was lying on a hard surface, completely dressed. I heard a distinct ringing and it took me a moment to realize it was the phone lying on the floor beside me. The dial tone continued to chime in the background as I tried to remember how I got there.

I remembered coming home and working on financials. I remembered the dark feeling and the phone ringing. As comprehension dawned, I wished more than anything, that I had never regained the memory that was replaying in my head. The irate woman, my father's impartial voice. His statement and the knowledge that he might be set free. The information circulated through my head like an out of control marry-go-round. I'd give just about anything to make it all stop.

I was starting to hyperventilate and I needed to get off the floor. I needed to do something.

I jumped up, feeling dizzy. I scrambled over to the sink and splashed water in my face. It helped me focus, but did nothing about the dizziness. I could feel panic in the pit of my stomach and it seemed to be growing by the second.

The silence in my apartment was eerie. It reminded me of a forgotten ghost town. It reminded me of the silence after my mother had fallen to her death.

I was getting frantic, pacing back and forth, my indecision clear.

What can I do? Where can I go?

I was flustered and unnerved.

_Jasper._

His name resonated through my head, and my next move was clear. I needed to go to Jasper.


End file.
